Twisted Dawn (part one)

You lot may remember this as UNEDITED which I had written awhile ago. It's just come back from editing. There are a few people I would like to thank before you can read. Daniel Kelly - Thank you so much for editing this. You're truly a great friend. Thanks for all the effort for this to come true. Laura Glogoski - Thanks for all the support you've given me for my writing. Tory Regan - You're extremely honest and I appreciate all you've said to me over the years. Everyone else who's given me feedback over the time, I thank you all endlessly. :)

Twisted Dawn

Silhouettes surround me as the presence of not knowing where I am cloud my waking thoughts. Everything I once knew, everything I once had, has now disappeared. I stare up at the moon, unwillingly – I am bloodied and bruised – why do I stare? Incoherent speech floods my ears… I think. I am more worried about how I got here than what is being said. Hands bound, I tense to break the shackles of confusion. Fear of not getting out strikes at me, sharp…stabbing.

"What have I ever done to deserve this?" I stammer.

"What haven't you done?" These words are pounded into me.

Tall trees shelter any geographical landmarks I may recognise. I am so dense in this forest I would not know which way to get out. Laughter erupts from an old GMC pick up truck. The interior light is on and from what I can make out, they both seem to be holding something. They begin to head my way before I can get a good look…I black out.

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The next time I regain consciousness, it is day light. The hill I’m on gives me a good view of the unfamiliar terrain; tall green pines seem to go on endlessly - a depressing sight, banishing thoughts of escape from my mind. I see now that the pick up truck is silver, with a mismatched red driver’s door. The silhouettes inside are now people. There are two of them, one of them very distinctive, towering at about six foot six inches - solid and sturdy. His head shaven, eyes a piercing hazel; a ginger goatee completed the look. As he looked over at me, he knew I was awake. I didn't know what to expect.

"You're here for a reason, and you know it too jackass." His voice is deep and bellowing. The hairs stood up on the back of my neck as I processed his words.

"A reason? Oh of course I know!" I answer.

He picks up the sarcastic tone in my voice, his facial expression changes, he’s now angry.

"You really know how to piss people off, don't you?" As he finishes his sentence, he deals a damaging blow to my nose. It reminds me of high school, and the days I spent head first in the toilet as bullies made sure I knew who the boss was.

"If you keep talking, I will keep going." His voice seems to shake the ground, surely registering on the Richter scale. I sit up, my hands still bound…the grip seems to have tightened. The sun was trying to pierce through the thick cloud. It must be about midday.

The other guy comes over to me, a balaclava covers his face but I see he is about five foot nine inches, with brown eyes. That is all I can make out as he picks me up. I’m unwilling at first, but I realise if I cooperate, I might gain some valuable information.

We walk for about five minutes, for which I decide not to speak. As we walk, he speaks to me, but I still find it difficult to hear and can’t make out what he is saying. I hear what I think are profanities and decide not to bother questioning him. A few hundred metres later we arrive at a river, it isn't too wide and the water is crisp. The soothing sound of water flowing over rocks fills the air, the first sound besides those in my head that I've heard in a long time. Despite the dire circumstances, I find it calming, even pleasant.

I am thrown to the ground, the five minute walk was clearly too much time alone with me, at least that’s what the look of disgust on his face tells me. He pulls a knife, my heart starts beating rapidly. He walks behind me; I do not break eye contact. Fear grips me tightly. He takes hold of my bound hands and cuts them loose. My heart skips a beat, then returns to a semi-normal rate.

"Go, wash yourself. I'll give you ten minutes, and then you're done."

His words were beyond intimidating. I gave him a small nod and proceeded to bathe in the river.

The water is cold. I run my fingers through my hair as the water soaks my body. It’s a relaxing sensation. A feeling I haven’t experienced in what seems to be an eternity.

"That's enough. Get your ass out of the river."

He no longer had his balaclava on and his chiselled facial features were clearly visible; a strong jaw line, a clean face, and short brown hair that seemed to be receding. As I make my way out of the river, he didn't bother about binding my hands.

On the walk back I notice there are no tracks leading to the camp. I have no idea how we got here or how I can escape. I try not to look suspicious as I scan my surroundings, I casually move my head left to right, appearing to track the movements of nearby wildlife.

Once back at the pickup, he shoves me to the ground. For the first time since being taken captive, my hands save me from a face-plant. I turn over. The man with the ginger goatee stares back at me from the end of the barrel – the gun is pointed directly at my face.

The seconds pass as if they were minutes. Our gazes lock, nothing dare brakes our concentration. A smirk slowly spreads across his face; it turns then to a smile and then full on laughter. So maniacal. I keep my eye contact with him but I can’t help the thoughts crossing my mind, wondering why he is laughing.

"Ha-ha, I won't kill you. Yet."

He says to me, with particular stress on the ‘yet’. I can feel it, my time is coming. The when and why elusive now, but it is certain; as certain as I know the sun will rise tomorrow. He pushes me to the ground and walks off, toting the gun on his shoulder and walking back to the truck.